Writing Her Own Rules
by MyLittleYellowBird
Summary: Feeling blessed with her life as a wife and mother, is there something from Shelagh's old life trying to come through? Originally published on my Wordpress blog.
1. Chapter 1

Not that anyone would get the impression otherwise, but Shelagh and her Poplar family and friends are not my own creation. I just like to visit with them.

* * *

With a click, the front door closed, shutting out the noise and commotion that started each day at the Turner household. No matter how hard she tried, Shelagh was unable to avert the frenetic bedlam that seemed to set Patrick and Timothy on their day. A forgotten lunch or a misplaced stethoscope, every morning there was something else to create chaos. Taking a deep breath, Shelagh pushed off from the door and returned to the kitchen, intent on a fresh cup of tea.

"Well, that's sorted, Angel Girl," she told her daughter. "Getting those two out of the house every morning is like moving Montgomery's army!"

Angela giggled back and raised her arms up in the air, eager to be released from her high chair and taken into her mother's arms. Shelagh smiled and happily complied.

It was their little ritual. No matter how cranky or tired or silly or happy Angela was, the moment she was in her mother's arms, her body relaxed, her head nuzzling into the crook of Shelagh's neck. The two would stay that way, unaware of the world around them, content to be together. Shelagh smoothed her hand over her baby's velvety head and bent to place a kiss on her forehead. "Sweet girl." Her eyes closed as she breathed in the sweet smell of baby and formula and clean cotton.

The moment never lasted forever, however, and turning on a dime, Angela's head was up and she was reaching for the floor.

"Oh, no, wee beastie," Shelagh laughed. "Once I put you down there'll be no stopping you." She grasped the little hand and danced the laughing baby out of the kitchen. "We have errands to get done today if we're to have tea with Sister Julienne later! It's off to the cleaners and the Post Office and the butcher's all before your nap time, so we'd best get started!"

Shelagh took a last glance at the kitchen. "Oh, well. I'll have to do the washing later while you nap. So much for that fresh cup of tea for me!"

A few hours later, the Turner women had made short work of the to-do list and were heading home for elevenses and a nap. Shelagh pushed the pram, deftly navigating the cobbles as Angela waved to every passerby.

"Quite the little princess, aren't you, dearest?" Shelagh teased. "It's no wonder, really, the way your father carries you about. That man will spoil you, Angela!" The scold had little power, though, as Shelagh stopped for a moment to retrieve a toy from her purse. Watching her daughter for a moment, Shelagh was interrupted by a shy voice.

"Mrs. Turner?"

Shelagh looked up and saw a woman, large with child, looking at her with recognition in her eyes. A sudden memory of a birth, fraught with worry for a large baby, came to her and she responded, "Louisa March! Oh, it's been a long time! How are you, my dear?" Oddly, Shelagh's voice changed a bit, somehow becoming a bit more assertive.

"I'm well, thank you, Sis-" she stopped suddenly, embarrassed by her mistake. "Sorry, Mrs. Turner. No offense."

Shelagh smiled warmly. There had been a time when such an error would fluster her, a time when she was still so uncertain about her new self that any reminder of her previous life would fluster her. More than a year and a half had passed since her decision to leave the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus and marry Patrick, time spent learning her new path. She had no blueprint to follow and had, with Patrick's help, created her own plan. Now she was confident in her choices, a happy wife and mother. Sister Bernadette was part of her identity, a part she did not want to forget.

"None taken, dear. It took me a bit of getting used to, as well." A movement behind the other woman caught her eye. "And who is this? Could this be baby, oh, what was it? Edward?"

The little boy stepped forward. "I'm not a baby. That's the baby!" He pointed to his mother's belly.

The women laughed. "Sorry about that, young sir," Shelagh returned. "You're absolutely right. You are most definitely _not_ a baby."

Drawing courage from her friendly voice, the boy stepped out from behind his mother. "Eddie," Louisa March told him, "this lady helped me to get you out of me tummy. Like I was tellin' ya with the new baby. Sis-Mrs. Turner was a wonderful midwife. She knew just what to do when you got stuck and needed some coaxing out."

The boy considered this for a moment, then asked, "Will you help Mummy with the new baby, too?"

"No, I'm afraid I can't. But I'm sure whomever helps your mother will take excellent care of her."

"But why not? If you did me, you should do the new baby, too."

"Stevie," his mother scolded.

"No, that's alright," Shelagh assured her. "I can't come and help your mother because I have my own baby to take care of now."

The boy stopped to consider this. "So you can't have your own baby and take care of ladies like me mum, then?"

Shelagh paused. How had this small boy found just the right question to ask? She took a small breath and demurred, "Well, we can't do everything, can we?" She moved back to the pram's handle. "Well, good luck, Louisa. I'm sure it will all go splendidly. And congratulations to you, too, Eddie. I'm quite sure you'll be an excellent big brother."

She pushed the pram to start home and met some resistance. The front wheel had caught in a rut, and she sighed, exasperated. After struggling over the street for nearly a block, Shelagh muttered, "Cobbles. Clearly the architect that designed these streets was a man. Of course he was. How on earth could a woman _possibly_ be an architect?" Her voice had a sharp edge to it. "Don't mind me, Angela. I'm just-oh, never mind."

Wisely, Angela stuck her thumb in her mouth and settled to enjoy the bouncy ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours later, Angela was fed, bathed (there had been some disagreement over the necessity of pureed spinach for lunch) and asleep in her cot. Shelagh returned to the kitchen and faced the damage caused by feeding her family two meals. Resignedly, she pulled her apron back over her head and set to work to restore it to its preferred state.

"I used to love the kitchen, really I did," Shelagh brooded. "Everything had its place, and I could try new recipes, I could bake to my heart's content. Now if-Oh, really, Shelagh, you're being ridiculous. Go put the radio on and get to work."

The smell of the soap bubbles and the hot water in the sink helped to relax her somewhat, and Shelagh started to laugh. "Oh, what have I come to when dish soap and hot water can make me feel better?"

She shook her head and put herself to work. A clean kitchen and a cup of tea and everything would be better. There was her appointment with Sister Julienne to look forward to later at Nonnatus House, and tonight she and Patrick would watch a new episode of Television Playhouse on the telly. A nice quiet day.

The phone rang out shrilly through the flat.

"Oh!" Shelagh muttered. That infernal thing was sure to wake Angela, and a nap cut short never made for an easy afternoon.

"Hello, Turner residence," she said sharply into the phone.

"Shelagh, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't call during nap time, but I've been called out and won't be able to call later. It's Mr. Lightman, and it looks like the cancer's going to take him tonight. I'll have to stay with him; I most likely won't be home until late."

Shelagh held in her disappointment. Patrick's had been called out three nights in a row this week. She had been looking forward to some time alone with her husband. But, she knew it couldn't be helped. If Patrick had been less devoted to his calling, she probably never would have fallen in love with him in the first place. The least she could do was to make things easier for him. "Of course, Patrick. Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

"Yes. I know it's a bother, but could you ask Sister Winifred to bring the morphine supplies from my surgery? I'm sure I don't have enough in my bag."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her through the phone line. "Alright, Patrick. I'll call 'round Nonnatus now."

"Thanks, Shelagh. Oh, and Shelagh, I've left my overcoat at the clinic. Could you pick that up for me and bring it to the cleaners? I spilled a cup of coffee down the front this morning."

"Yes, Patrick." Never mind that she had already gone to the cleaners today. Patrick had a lot on his mind, she reminded herself.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what I'd do without you. I've got to go. See you tonight." And with that, he signed off.

Sighing, Shelagh allowed herself to feel a moment of frustration. The cleaners shop was blocks away from both Nonnatus House and the surgery. She'd have to rush out soon in order to make her meeting with Sister Julienne in time.

"Well, it's a good thing you're up, anyway," she informed her daughter, crying down the hall in her cot.

Sister Winifred was already waiting for Shelagh outside the surgery when Shelagh pushed the pram up to the stairs.

"Hello, Mrs. Turner," the young nun waved cheerfully. Her wide smile turned to a surprised frown when she saw Angela's tear-stained cheeks. "Oh, and what on earth could be making you look so blue, little one?"

"I'm afraid we're a bit out of sorts this afternoon, Sister." Shelagh lifted the unhappy baby from the pram to carry her inside. "We haven't had much of a nap, I'm afraid, and I think there may be a new tooth coming through."

"A new tooth!" Sister Winifred cooed happily. "How lovely!"

"Yes, quite." Shelagh pressed her lips together. The nun's enthusiasm was not something she was prepared to humor this afternoon. She watched as Sister Winifred tried to distract Angela from her discomfort and felt a pang of guilt. Was there no one safe from her own bad mood today?

"Sister, would you mind taking Angela for a moment? I can fetch the supplies for you more quickly if you just follow me in."

"Of course. Here we go Miss Angela. Do you know, I knew a kitten named Angela once," she prattled on as Angela reached for her mother. The nun pranced along behind Shelagh, trying to help change the mood. "Oh, Angela was the sweetest puss I ever knew. That is until I met you, of course."

Shelagh went to the top left drawer in Patrick's desk and took out a biscuit from his secret stash. Shaking her head, she "You're lucky this isn't empty, Patrick Turner." She turned and offered the biscuit to her daughter.

A moment later, the room was quiet as Angela gnawed wetly on her treat.

"Well, that's done it!" cheered Sister Winifred. "I suppose you know all sorts of tricks to keep her happy, Mrs. Turner."

Shelagh sighed. "You do what you must to survive," she joked. She turned and went to the supply locker.

Nervous that Angela would start up again if she lost sight of her mother, Sister Winifred followed.

"You're so very efficient, Mrs. Turner. The nurses all go on about how you were the backbone of the midwifery practice. Just yesterday, Trixie was telling us of a thrilling birth she attended with you where you used Eve's Rocking to save the baby." She turned her face back to Angela's. "You know exactly how to take care of everyone. It's no wonder you have such a happy family."

Shelagh stopped for a moment. "Why, thank you Sister. Though I'm not so certain I _am_ that efficient. I'm two days behind on the washing, and the kitchen floor hasn't been the same since my little Angel decided she wanted jam for lunch last week."

"Oh, well, those thing will sort themselves out, won't they? The important thing is how much you're able to do for your family." If Sister Winifred had seen Shelagh's face at that moment, she might not have been so certain.

Reaching for the morphine, Shelagh stopped for a moment, her forehead creasing over her nose. Pressing her lips together, she thought of all the things she had done for her family just today. She always seemed to be doing _something_ for _someone_. She turned back, a box of the needed medication in her hand.

"Dr. Turner didn't say how much he thought he'd need, but given the circumstances, I think it would be best if you took at least a half dozen ampules. That, combined with what he already has, should be enough." She passed a clipboard to Sister Winifred. "If you'll sign here, please, for the records."

Suddenly reminded of her official role, Sister Winifred's eyes widened. "Of course. If you...if you would," she stumbled a bit for words.

Shelagh reached out and took Angela, complete with hands a bit gooey with wet biscuit, back in her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: There's a moment at the wedding (oh, you know what wedding I mean), when Chummy hands baby Freddy over to Peter and there is such a look of relief on her face. She loves that baby, but oh, sometimes, you just need someone to take that baby, just for one moment. Of course, two moments later, you're aching to hold your baby again.)

It was a quarter past four when Shelagh finally pushed the pram up to the large door at Nonnatus House. Shelagh hated to be late, and prided herself on not only her own promptness, but in having improved Patrick's.

With a still cranky Angela in her arms, she started up the stone steps, only to be met by a bustling Sister Evangelina on her way out.

"We could certainly use you today, Mrs. Turner," the cantankerous nun huffed. "Three of the six midwives all out on a delivery this afternoon, and the rest behind on calls. Can't be helped, I suppose, but an extra set of hands would not go amiss." Before Shelagh could respond, the nun was off on her way.

Shelagh sighed, and made her way through the opened door.

"My dear, I'm so glad you're able to join me this afternoon!" Sister Julienne called in greeting. The nun reached out for her little pet, and Shelagh felt a sigh of relief as she passed her daughter over.

"Good afternoon, Sister. I see you're having a busy day," Shelagh glanced after Sister Evangelina.

"Indeed." Calmly the nun allowed Angela to tug on her wimple. Shelagh resisted the urge to correct her daughter. Sister Julienne would have none of that, she knew. Whilst at Nonnatus, Angela was to be coddled.

Sister Julienne continued, "I do hope our visit isn't interrupted, but I'm afraid it is a possibility. Mrs. Pound has called to say she's starting to feel some twinges."

Following her dear friend to the sitting room, Shelagh responded, "Oh, dear. She's still got another three weeks, surely?"

"Yes, but it is her first, and as we know, a new mother is bound to be a bit nervous." Sister Julienne turned her attention back to Angela. "Perhaps we should settle down to tea, just in case."

As usual, Mrs. B.'s tea was worth the difficulties getting to Nonnatus House. A strong Darjeeling scented the air, and the lightest of almond sponges graced the best cake plate. As Nonnatus had become frequent host to infants of late, a sturdy high chair stood to the side of Sister Julienne's favored seat, a collection of old wooden spoons for Angela's amusement on the tray.

Glancing over the rim of her teacup, Sister Julienne remarked, "You seem a bit distracted today, my dear. Would you like to tell me about it?"

Shelagh looked up from the spoon she was retrieving from the floor for the fifth time. She could deny it, pretend that all was as usual, but she knew better. Her old friend would see through her denials, and though she would not comment further, would be concerned.

"Its just been a rather frustrating day, that's all. I shouldn't complain really. It's all just a bit of nonsense." She did not meet the nun's eyes, and kept her own on her daughter.

"Shelagh, we all have those days where nothing seems to go right. But simply because we all have them doesn't mean our own are not important."

Shelagh glanced up. "I suppose you're right, Sister, but I feel as if I'm complaining about what I wanted more than anything else." She stood and moved to retreive Angela's bottle from her bag.

"Let me feed her," Sister Julienne requested. "Your tea will cool and you look like you need it." Her gentle smile took any edge of from her words. She lifted her god-daughter from the chair and settled in comfortably on the worn sofa. "I'll feed her, and you enjoy your tea as you tell me about your day."

Knowing she would be better for talking about it, Shelagh agreed. "It was just an ordinary day. Lots of little things, none all that important, but I've just got myself in such a mood today. Strange, actually the day started off so well." She thought back to her morning. "I had to leave the kitchen a mess when we went out to do errands, and Angela didn't get a very good nap because Patrick needed...Oh, just nonsense, really. I suppose I need a nap myself," she smiled ruefully. For some reason, an image of the heavily pregnant Louisa March flashed before her eyes.

"It's never nonsense, my dear. Aristotle never raised a family. Sometimes, the the sum of its parts is greater than the whole!

"When I was at Nonnatus, there were so many days that were filled with tiny little problems, and it never seemed to bother me. Today couldn't possibly compare, and it's completely set me off." Her fingers worried at a stray string on the sofa pillows. "I have everything I ever dreamed of, there's no reason for feeling this way."

Sister Julienne reached out and covered the younger woman's hand with her own. "Simply because you feel frustration does not mean you are unhappy, my dear, or even ungrateful. I remember my mother used to say, 'A single day with a child can go on forever, but the years will fly by.'"

Shelagh gave her a watery smile. "That's it exactly. I look at Timothy, and sometimes all I can see is the small boy he was just a short while ago, and others, he's a young man, ready to take on the world." Finished with her bottle, Angela popped up her head up and reached for her mother. Shelagh held out her arms and relaxed visibly as they fit themselves together. "And this little angel changes nearly every day.

"I really am very happy, Sister, but it helps to talk it over with you."

Sister Julienne nodded widely, her shoulders leaning in. "I'm so very glad, my dear."

The loud thud of the heavy front door closing caught their attention. A quick clatter of shoes through the hall followed, and in a moment they were joined by a frazzled Trixie Franklin.

"Good afternoon, Shelagh, Sister Julienne," the typically perky nurse collapsed into the nearby chair. "What a day. Ten calls just this afternoon! Four first-time mothers, two newborns and another four home checks. Honestly, Sister, this community is running us off our feet!

The two older women exchanged knowing glances. "I'm quite certain after a cup of tea, you'll feel much more yourself. Please, help yourself," Sister Julienne gestured towards the teapot.

Trixie sat up, suddenly realizing she was intruding. "Thank you, Sister, but I'll leave you both to your visit." She stood, eyeing the almond sponge. "But if you wouldn't mind?" she questioned.

Shelagh smiled. She had talked about her own confusion enough for today. "Trixie, please sit down and take tea. Sister Julienne and I have had our nice, cozy chat. I'm sure we'd both like to hear about your rounds today."

Grateful, Trixie began to make a plate for herself as Sister Julienne prepared her tea. "Thank you, Shelagh. I did have a question I wanted to review with Sister Julienne, if you don't mind?"

Shelagh felt another twinge of annoyance, but hid it well. "Of course," she replied. "Don't mind us." She fussed with Angela's yellow jumper.

Trixie swallowed a gulp of her tea. "Sister, I had the strangest home visit today. Mrs. Young is very nearly thirty-six weeks along with her first, and she's complaining of the strangest symptoms. Her hands and feet are terribly itchy! It's quite maddening, really. The poor thing is hardly getting any sleep at all! I've never come across anything like it, Sister. I'm not sure if it's simply a sign of her stress, or something more serious."

"Itchy hands and feet?" The nun wondered. "How strange. Are there any other symptoms?"

"Everything else seems perfectly normal. I'm quite puzzled." Trixie sipped her tea. "The poor thing has been a bit nauseous, but that's nothing unusual."

"I am sorry to interrupt, but did you notice if perhaps Mrs. Young is looking a bit jaundiced?" Shelagh asked quietly.

"Jaundiced? No, I didn't notice-but she is a bit more of an olive complexion, perhaps I didn't look? Why? Could that mean something?" Trixie asked.

"Well, as I haven't seen Mrs. Young myself, I really couldn't say. But it could be Cholestasis of pregnancy. It's possible that the increase in pregnancy hormones — such as occurs in the third trimester — may slow the normal flow of bile out of the liver. Eventually, the buildup of bile in the liver allows bile acids to enter the bloodstream. Bile acids deposited in the mother's tissues can lead to itching." Unconsciously, Shelagh had assumed a more precise way of speaking, and would have been surprised to know how closely she resembled Sister Bernadette at that moment. The similarity was not lost on her companions.

"Oh, dear," Trixie worried. "Should I alert Doctor Turner at once?"

Shelagh shook her head. "No, it's not an emergency situation. Simply include a note in your write up today, and schedule a follow-up consultation with the doctor. Mrs. Young is in no real danger, but her baby should be monitored. The most likely outcome is that her labor will be induced a bit early to prevent any possible harm to the baby."

Trixie heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness I mentioned it! What would we do without you, Shelagh? We should all be taking classes with you again!"


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later in the quiet flat, Shelagh put the last of the dishes away. With a tired sigh, she looked around the pristine kitchen, then took off her apron. She could hear the bathtub drain as Timothy finished in the bath, his night nearly over.

Patrick would come home after a difficult night and would need something in his stomach to help him sleep. She set the tea try, leaving a slice of her ham and egg pie under a dampened serviette to prevent it from drying, and left the kitchen.

The sight of Timothy, fresh-faced and pink under the blankets on his bed, made her smile tenderly. His hair was still plastered wetly to his head, and his pyjama top was misbuttoned. It was at times like this it was easy to see the young boy he was so rapidly leaving behind.

Picking up the towel left on the lid of his clothes bin, she chuckled. "There now, you'll catch your death going to bed with a wet head like that. Sit up, I'll dry it for you." Settling on the side of his bed, she waited as he shifted into position.

"There's some doubt now that being cold actually causes a cold, you know. A cold is caused by a virus, Mum, and a virus isn't looking for a cold spot. Going to bed with wet hair is highly unlikely to give me a head cold." In one sentence, the emerging adolescent reappeared.

"Well, it will certainly give you a wet pillow, young man," Shelagh laughed as she vigorously rubbed at his head. "Be still for two minutes and make your mother happy."

She finished with a flourish, and reached for the comb on his bedside table.

"Mum," Timothy complained. "I can do that."

"If you're sure," she teased. She ran her fingers through the lightly damp hair falling over his forehead. "Don't stay up too late tonight. The medical world needs your insight."

The flat was quiet again, and Shelagh returned to the sitting room. No matter how hard she tried, she didn't seem able to keep ahead of the mess in there. Laundry spilled over from its basket, a pile of school books scattered across the table, and Angela's toys were simply everywhere.

Starting her clockwise turn around the room, Shelagh organized books into Tim's school bag and signed a forgotten permission slip. The laundry was next, a never-ending task that made Shelagh long for the new-fangled machines they were seeing in the paper.

"I doubt those machines will fold and put away," she muttered. "But if a man were in charge of … Oh, for goodness' sake, Shelagh! Will you stop with that today?" She sat down on the sofa in frustration and rested her chin in her hands. Why was she in such a mood? she wondered.

Today wasn't so different from most days. She spent her time caring for her family, and she loved it. She relished in the fact that Patrick needed her so, and her family was everything to her. Daily life certainly wasn't glamorous, or even exciting sometimes, but there were moments of such joy.

Shelagh stood and rolled her shoulders back. Just under the curio cabinet she could spy that giraffe they'd been searching for since dinner.

Finally finished for the evening, Shelagh sat at her vanity brushing her hair. Her thoughts travelled back to her conversation with Trixie. She would have to check back to see if she had been correct in her diagnosis of Mrs. Young. Humility aside, she was certain she had not been mistaken.

For years, she had been the midwife called in for the rare and difficult cases, and she felt the glory of God through her work. Now, her life in midwifery seemed so far away, and so intrinsically tied to her former life as a nun. Perhaps that was why she had never considered continuing her work once she left the order.

She shook her head. No, she thought. When she chose her new life, she was deciding not just to marry, but to be a mother to Tim, and any other babies God would give them. Her heart tugged for a moment for that lost chance. She had been so hopeful.

God had found another way to answer her prayers, and she was truly grateful. Angela filled in her heart, just as Timothy and Patrick did. Placing her hairbrush on the table, she moved to the cot next to her bed.

No matter how many times she put Angela on her back, her daughter always found her way into her favorite position. Shelagh ever-so-lightly ran her hand down the length of the little back, coming to rest on the little bottom jutting up in the air.

"Precious Angel Girl," Shelagh whispered. The baby sighed and found her thumb, settling back to sleep. Shelagh sat on the edge of the bed, her head resting on the cot's rail. "How could I ever consider leaving you, even for a little while?" Her hand caressed the downy pale hair that covered the baby's head. Just two short months ago, there was so little, the baby still appeared bald, and in another few months, it would be long enough to curl about her ears.

There were so many changes ahead. Baby to toddler, toddler to child; Shelagh didn't want to miss a moment. She was completely certain that nothing could bring her the joy that her family did. But there was still that nagging feeling, just in the back of her mind. Not quite a thought, just...a feeling. A feeling that there was something else to consider.

Shelagh smiled knowingly. Life had taught her that she would need to heed the call of her subconscious. Ignoring her feelings before had only led to heartache. As in the past when she had denied her growing need for a family and Patrick to share it with, or buried her fears that Patrick was holding himself back from her, her problems would not disappear because she pretended they did not exist.

Only by facing these questions had she found peace. For now, she would love her family and focus her energies on them. But these questions would need answers.

It was time to decide exactly what the questions were.


	5. Epilogue

Late afternoon sun poured through the window above the kitchen sink as gurgles of infant laughter filled the room. A blue plastic infant tub converted the typical white porcelain basin into an indoor water playground.

"Well, that's certainly a happy sound, little Miss. I suppose we've made friends again?" Shelagh Turner cooed. "I always say, a bath can fix everything!" Offering up a toy giraffe of indeterminate age, she watched as the baby kicked and splashed. Two towels sat at the ready, one for baby, one for clean-up.

Down the hall, she heard the doorbell, followed by the still-brisk steps of her husband. "Guess who's here, dearest," she asked the baby.

Moments later, Angela Turner entered the kitchen. "Mum, you didn't have to give her a bath," she declared.

"I know, dear. But there was a bit of a disagreement over the peas for her ladyship's tea. Besides, you know I don't mind, and it will be one less thing for you to do tonight." Shelagh unfolded a towel and offered it to her daughter. "Since I've had the bathtime honors, would you like to dress the little princess?"

Angela sighed and moved to the pantry closet. "No, you can do it, Mum. I'll put out the tea."

Years of practice made Shelagh a dab hand at changing wet, slippery babies, and in the work of a moment, her granddaughter clean, dry and dressed.

"Dad was on his way out to the garden when he let me in. He looks good," Angela commented as she scooped tea into her mother's favorite teapot.

"Your father always looks good, dear. He's a very handsome man."

The spoon clanged on the countertop. "Ugh, Mum. You'll put me off my dinner."

They both laughed. "Your father is doing quite well, actually," Shelagh answered as she placed the baby into the nearby playpen. "Tim came by and asked that he do a seminar at the college on patient care next month. Don't tell your father I said so, but he's really quite thrilled to be back in the field. His practice was too much, I think, but his work with the medical students has revitalized him since his retirement. He wants to go dancing tomorrow night!" Shelagh's cheeks pinkened.

"Dad dancing? Sorry, Mum." Angela grimaced.

Shelagh waved her daughter's sympathy away. "Not that ridiculous disco nonsense you do-"

"Mum, disco's been dead for a decade!"

"Proper ballroom dancing, Angela, at the Dorchester. They'll even have a band!" Shelagh's eyes glowed.

No longer satisfied with the companionship of a toy giraffe, Julienne reached for her mother. Angela reached into the playpen and lifted her daughter into her arms.

Shelagh smiled to herself as she watched mother and child settle into each other, and turned to finish the tea.

"You look a bit tired, dearest," she remarked gently. "Would you like us to take Angela tonight? With your final boards coming up, you'll need your rest."

"Not tonight, Mum, thanks. I just want to bring Julie home and snuggle her. I haven't had a night home with her and Charlie all week. Tonight's the first night in weeks Charlie isn't on call, and we need a bit of family time."

Three generations of Turner women settled quietly into their tea. After a long moment, Angela spoke up.

"I am tired, though. I knew this would be hard, having a baby while I'm still qualifying for my obstetrics license, and I could never have gotten this far without you and Dad and Charlie supporting me. But sometimes I think maybe I should just give in and wait until after Julie's grown to finish."

She looked up at her mother. "I must seem very cowardly to you."

"Cowardly?" Shelagh asked, stunned.

Angela sighed deeply. "Thinking about giving up. I have so much help, and I can barely manage. Some days I don't manage at all." She rubbed her cheek against her daughter's head, her eyes damp. "_You_ did it. You did it back when there was no such thing as on-site day care, or working mothers groups. You didn't even have your mother to help." Angela looked up, sad and confused. "How did you? You raised Tim and me, you ran Dad's surgery, served as a nurse and midwife, all by yourself."

Shelagh smiled. "It was hardly by myself, dearest, and there were many days when I didn't think I could manage. But you're wrong, you know. I had so much help. I had your father. Back then, most fathers did very little in the way of child care, but I could always count on your father to try," she giggled. "Dinners were a mess, and he never could do the laundry correctly, but he always made the effort. Your father knew I needed to help make a difference in the world outside our family, and he wasn't afraid to pitch in when necessary. So, we wrote our own rules." Leaning in, Shelagh added, "He was quite good at getting the nuns to lend a hand, too. One word from him, and I never had to mend another pair of your brother's trousers again!"

Angela gave a watery chuckle. Gratefully taking the hanky her mother held out, she wiped her eyes. "I remember when Dad had to help me with my hair before hockey practice when I was nine. "A" for effort, but that's why I learned to do my own plaits before anyone else on the team!" She kissed the sleeping baby's head.

"Yes, and Tim mastered shepherd's pie just to avoid your father's cooking!" Shelagh reached over and caressed her daughter's arm. "Marriage, motherhood, they're hard, Angela. It's hard for everyone, but it'll get easier. You'll write your own rules, I'm sure of it. The world doesn't usually see change overnight. It changes nearly unnoticed, one woman at a time."

"One woman at a time what?" asked Patrick as he entered the kitchen, a bundle of freshly cut blooms in his hand. "I should think one woman would be enough for anyone!"

Shelagh got up from the table and took a vase from under the sink as Patrick began to trim the stems. "The hydrangeas," Shelagh admired. "The soil's so funny this year, I didn't think we'd ever see them turn pink."

Patrick grinned, "I know the right things to say, my love. You just have to make them blush."

"Right, then. That's my cue." Angela stood, shifted her sleeping child in her arms and crossed to kiss her mother goodbye. Heading for the door, she grumbled, "Why we never wrote a rule against that sort of thing I'll never know!"


End file.
